


New Day

by enemyfrigate



Series: Day [2]
Category: Flashpoint
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-28
Updated: 2011-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemyfrigate/pseuds/enemyfrigate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed and Sam enjoy their morning routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Day

Ed wakes up in the gray of early morning, the peace of the new house still a surprise.

He shifts experimentally, but the warm mass next to him doesn’t stir.

Good. They’d been up working late last night, a situation that had resolved with no bloodshed. For once, the solution hadn’t been theirs, but Greg’s. Everyone is happier when Greg succeeds.

Ed slides out of bed, twitches the shade to keep morning light from creeping over Sam’s face and waking him too soon, and heads for the shower.

This is an ordinary morning, despite the late night. Greg likes to give them all a bit of extra sleep when they burn the night oil, but Jules is on vacation and Wordy banged hell out of his shoulder rollerblading with his daughters, so they’re short staffed. It’s fine, though. Everything is fine, now.

Ed gives himself an extra three minutes to enjoy the hot water beating down on him. Sam grumbles about the shower settings he likes, calling it torture instead of just strong, but that just gives Ed a chance to mock Sam for liking his creature comforts.

Not that Ed can talk. He doesn’t cook much, but this new place has a really good kitchen, which he appreciates. And after a shower, he likes having the closet right off the bathroom here. He hates to drip on the hardwood in the bedroom when he goes to get dressed.

Dressed. Coffee. There’ll be bagels and fruit waiting at work, but Ed has to have his coffee.

He drinks two big mugs, leaning against the kitchen counter and gazing out over the narrow green lawn, the light playing over the floor through the sliding glass doors.

This place isn’t that big. They haven’t exactly decorated it, or even considered fresh paint. The yard is big enough for a tiny brick patio, an old Weber grill, and the kind of cookout where everybody has to be really good friends.

But it’s all theirs, his and Sam’s, and that’s enough for Ed.

“Hey,” Sam says, coming into the kitchen, showered and half dressed. He kisses Ed’s cheek and reaches for a mug.

“Morning,” Ed says.

Sam raises a hand. He’s not chatty when he’s just gotten up.

Ed smiles into his mug, smiles broader when Sam joins him against the counter.

Sam drinks off the mug of joe like it’s not the good stuff.

Ed thinks he can see the caffeine hit his bloodstream, because a breath after Sam thunks the empty mug down, he presses up against Ed and kisses him, lazy and slow.

“Should have woken me up,” Sam says.

“Should have tried, you mean.” Ed wraps an arm around his shoulders. Sam leans against him, like a big cat, letting Ed take all his weight.

“I would have woken up for you,” Sam says.

“Uh huh,” Ed says. “Weekend coming up. Want to go out with the guys and watch the game?”

But Sam doesn’t answer, because he’s sinking to his knees. His hands migrate to Ed’s hips, and he looks up with a knowing grin.

Ed sets the mug down. Drops a hand to Sam’s spiky hair, unconsciously grips the counter with the other.

Then Sam has his pants open and is nuzzling Ed’s half hard dick, the soft lips followed by slight stubble on his most sensitive skin making Ed shiver.

He’s full and hard in no time, and Sam takes his cock into his luscious mouth with no teasing.

Sam’s mouth is hot, his fingers clever. Ed would have said that the days of instant orgasm were way behind him, but when Sam looks up at him with those eyes, knowing exactly what he’s doing, enjoying it, no coyness or hesitation or even preening, he thinks it’s possible again. As it is, he lasts just a handful of minutes before coming down Sam’s throat, Sam’s tongue working the thick vein on the underside of his shaft.

Sam sits back, licks his lips, looks obscenely pleased with himself as Ed pants.

Ed finds his voice, rasps out, “C’mere, baby. Get up here.”

Sam rises to his feet and Ed crushes him close, kisses him to taste himself, feels Sam’s hardness at his hip.

He reaches for Sam’s cock, ready to return the pleasure,

Sam leans back, “Don’t have time.”

Ed glances at the microwave. Damn. “Yeah. Shit. You want to go take care of it?”

“I‘ll keep,” Sam says.

“I guess we’re not going out with the guys tonight,” Ed says.

Sam shrugs. “Guess you’ll just have to owe me one.”

As Ed grabs his gear and follows Sam to the car, he thinks all kinds of things he’s not sure he needs to say out loud.

Ed Lane, divorced, down, rejected, had known Sam was a good friend. Had known Sam would help him if he could bring himself to ask, and sometimes if he couldn’t.

He had not known that Sam could love him, wait for him to realize his own desires, had not known that Sam could wait for him to reconcile being a father, a teammate, a good man, with taking a new love into his life. He had not known that Sam would be patient, making his offer, no, a declaration, and then backing off to let Ed, who would not take advantage of what was being offered until it was right, decide.

And now, Ed has Sam to love him, joke with him, give him pleasure and ask nothing in return.

What does Ed owe Sam? A hell of a lot more than a blowjob.

Ed owes Sam more than that.

Ed, Ed owes Sam everything.


End file.
